The Craven
by Checkerboards
Summary: Jonathan Crane has an encounter with a certain grim and ominous ebony figure. A parody of Edgar Allan Poe's 'The Raven'.


Once upon a midnight dreary, while I tested my new theory,

Over many a cracked and gibbering madman, fearful on the floor,

While I witnessed their minds snapping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of someone gently rapping, rapping on my hideout door,

"'Tis just a minion," I muttered, "tapping at my lab room's door-

Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember Arkham in the bleak November

While escaping, I dismembered guards who barred the iron doors

Eagerly I raced for freedom - straitjackets? I had to flee them -

Drugs and doctors - _I_ don't need them - so I crept out of the door -

Out the small unguarded portal that let staff onto our floor -

Disappeared forevermore.

And the little frightened mutters from my pair of subject brothers

Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic dreams of Gotham's fearful roar

So that now, I stood dismissing all the sounds I'd heard and hissing -

Hissing terrified the brothers screaming on my cold lab floor,

Hisses deranging the brothers cowered on my cold lab floor,

Hissing, then, and nothing more.

Presently, to break the tension, tapping once more drew attention,

"You," I cried, "you stupid henchman, get yourself back from my door,

I am busy with this poison -" that, I felt, might just annoy them,

I don't know why I should employ them, dimwits lurking near my door-

"Get back or I'll test it on _you_ - " here I opened wide the door -

Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering, shrieks and howls did fill my hearing,

And I doubted much that I had heard a knock upon my door

Since the two were mostly thrashing, surely they had sent things crashing,

Lab equipment made loud noises when it smashed upon the floor,

So I thought that it was only beakers thrown into the door,

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the lab retreating, taking notes on subjects screaming,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

"Help! The snakes!" the men did call - only then did I recall

I had no henchmen - none at all - and tapping meant one thing for sure -

I snatched the toxin from the table, for I felt completely sure -

'Twas the Batman at my door!

With no pause in which to wonder, Batman tore my door asunder,

In he stalked, a six-foot raven smashing up my toxin store,

Not the least concession made he, not a minute stopped or stayed he,

But the antidote he made, he gave to them to force a cure -

And he blocked me from the door.

Then this ebony Bat bethinking that my courage would be shrinking

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance he wore

"From the looks of this new potion, you," he said, "enjoy commotion-

For you've made almost an ocean of the toxin on the floor -"

"It doesn't matter that you spilled it - I can quickly make some more!"

Quoth the Batman, "Nevermore."

And the Batman still bethinking that my courage would be shrinking

Strode in my direction, stepping over subjects on the floor

With the toxin I did spray him, but it didn't much delay him

No, it did not stop or stay him, barring me from my own door-

Still he said it - "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, Bat from hell!" I shrieked, upstarting,

Hoping then to dodge him and fetch toxin from the drawer -

It would leave him scared and shaking while away I would be making

Oh, to see the Batman quaking! There is nothing I want more!

"Take thy cape from out my lab and take thy form right out the door!"

Quoth the Batman, "Nevermore."

And the Batman, never stopping, snatched me as my heart was dropping

Drew me out into the darkness and to Arkham's lonely doors

And his eyes have all the glaring of a demon's that is staring

How can I perform my scaring while I'm facedown on the floor?

And if I could have one wish be granted it would be for sure -

To see the Batman - Nevermore!

* * *

_Author's Note: I'm blaming this one on Harold Schechter and his delightful Poe-based murder mysteries. I'm also blaming this on my computer, which decided to stop working this morning before I could retrieve any of the stuff I've written in the last two weeks (y'know, _Homesick_in its entirety and all the edits for _Origins_.) So...updates might not happen on schedule until I can weasel all my files out of the old hard drive, and I hope you enjoyed the poem that I wrote at the very last minute. _


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